


Starry Nights

by theowletqueen (nerdqueenenterprise)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel (implied but only if you squint), Gen, Sam Winchester (mentioned) - Freeform, roadtrip feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 18:32:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10836978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdqueenenterprise/pseuds/theowletqueen
Summary: "It’s magical, and Dean’s seen enough magic that that word doesn’t sound right, but Heavenly doesn’t fit, either, but he’s not good enough with words to describe this. It makes something in his heart ache, and when he really thinks about it he thinks he was born for this life on the road."





	Starry Nights

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by the_fluffy_unicorn (ao3) / annie-thyme (tumblr) 's breathtaking poetry kinda i guess??

The sky is lit up with stars. All of it, expanded from one side of the horizon to the other, blanketing and making you feel tiny and alone and like the only, the most important person in the universe at the same time. No clouds, and maybe it’s a new moon, or a full moon, but it’s all there, stretched out, making the miles feel like lightyears and the hours like seconds. Cold, hard, unforgiving, and when you didn’t plan your route accordingly, when you’re in the dead of some mid-American state or in the Rockies or anywhere where you could drive for days without passing what could properly defined as civilization, it’s going to swallow you up. Could be weeks before a truck passes you in that particular bend, because you’re the only person on the world right now.

And it’s - it’s so peaceful, so beautiful. Just this, just the car’s engine and the stars, wide awake, cutting through the silence. 

And hell, Dean doesn’t drink and drive, barely ever apart from the odd mistake here and there, once a year or less, but he could swear - he could swear when it’s like this, when Sam’s sleeping in the passenger seat or in the back or just elsewhere, when he’s all alone - he can hear it. The cosmos. The universe. Hear it talk. Smell it. Almost touch it. Crisp night air slipping under his collar after the Impala turned onto gravel for a short stop, headlights cut off, silence all around, maybe just the metal of the hood under his thighs and the wind rustling the plants, that almost-not-quite shiver because it’s crisply cold, or cool, keeping you sharp and wide awake, eyes wide open, taking in shaking breaths. He’s reached for the stars more than once, trying and failing, feeling so close yet so far. He could swear he can smell it, touch it, feel it, hear it, the vast expanse that goes in all the directions on the compass, and above.

It’s magical, and Dean’s seen enough magic that that word doesn’t sound right, but Heavenly doesn’t fit, either, but he’s not good enough with words to describe this. It makes something in his heart ache, and when he really thinks about it he thinks he was born for this life on the road.

And the stars - he kind of feels like when it’s like that they’re _his_. Which is stupid, of course, because it’s the most conceited thing he’s ever thought. Things like this, things so, so beautiful, so … ethereal - they’re not meant for him, not for a man as, you know, as bad as him.

Well. It’s the second most conceited thing he’s ever thought.

But still. Nights like this sometimes feels like the only wealth he’s ever had. He’s not the kind of guy to wax poetically about anything, ever, but … yeah, that’s kind of how it is, and he’s not about to give that up, share that, this special thing, with anybody else.

Or he was. Back when he thought that the most conceited thing he’s ever thought was believing these nights were meant for him alone.

Because then Cas came along and Dean somehow fooled himself into believing that the angel might be, you know, in love with him. Which is stupid of course, since heh, Dean’s very much heterosexual and Cas - or his vessel - is only agreeably looking. Doesn’t mean he wants to, you know, do anything with him. Just because the angel became a bit of a fix point in Dean’s life - and he’s always doing this standing too close, staring too much thing - it doesn’t mean that Dean wants anything from him. His blue eyes aren’t that special, and there’s probably tons of guys with that jawline, those plush lips, this warm rumbly voice, and Dean doesn’t want anything from him. It’s not… something he wants, or needs, and he doesn’t think of, well, _Cas_ and his - the way he is, special, kind of wonderful in his own way. There’s nothing … between them, or whatever. It’s just comforting, another person, not just him and Sam, that’s all. He’s straight.

And just like the presence of Sam sleeping in the passenger seat kind of fades away in those nights, those starry nights (and ha, that’s an art joke, a _nerd_ joke because Dean’s not really that stupid, it’s all just pretend), Cas … fades away, too. Not in a bad way, but the way he just sits in the back seat, barely moving, and Dean’s got the road in front of him, a few feet lit up by Baby’s headlights, the rest glowing softly with the light of the moon and the stars. He doesn’t use his mirrors - what for? - and so … yeah, he forgets that Cas is there. And Sam. He just forgets, too caught up in his own thoughts, the engine noise, the night and the stars.

Sometimes his eyes do float back to the rearview mirror and he startles a bit on the inside when he sees Cas’ face there, but the longer he’s with them, the more Dean loses himself in these nights, becomes one with the car, the blanket of the night, the miles they make.

 

And one night, when it’s especially beautiful and they’re in the mountains, high above everything else, on a winding road that overlooks a huge valley, Dean eventually pulls over, staring at the vast expanse, flicking off the headlights and killing the engine. He barely hears the door creak when he steps out, gravel rolling under his shoe, the gust of wind that greets him sending a shiver down his spine. He lets the door slip close, won’t allow another sound to tear through the night.

They’re on the edge of a cliff, a several hundred feet drop down to the tips of the forest down there. Dean rolls a small stone to the absolute edge with the tip of his shoe, watching it tumble down by its own weight until he can’t see it anymore, rushing of the trees loud in his ears, the Impala’s engine cooling down with soft little _tick_ s.

The air is clear and he’s trying to look as far as he can, silently convinced that the pixel-like vagueness of everything too far away is the atoms that he can see. Or something. Shit, he doesn’t know anything, but this is great. It feels like time stopped for a while here, and this atmosphere here won’t allow him to think farther than of the right here, right now.

Each breath in the cool mountain air is like a huge weight lifting off his shoulders, his chest, his heart. Fuck, but if he could stay here forever …

Dean leans back against the Impala’s hood, one heel hooked against Baby’s bumper, arms loosely at his side, feeling the smooth warm metal with calloused fingertips, and he breathes again. Serene, that’s the word he was looking for. He lets his shoulders fall, jaw soften, relaxes his forehead, straightens his back.

A stronger breeze makes the trees almost roar, a bird crying out somewhere, and a door on the Impala opens with its trademark squeak. The bubble is so close to bursting and Dean can feel his heart tense with the need of holding on to something nice, just once.

So he doesn’t look to see who it is, eyes desperately trained ahead. The Impala shifts a bit under the other person’s weight, suspension making a tiny sound that feels like a gunshot and leaves Dean’s ears ringing.

A hand lies so closely to Dean’s own that he can feel the heat radiating off it, but he’s too proud to pull his own back, wants to keep his moment too much.

It’s Cas, he realizes after his eyes flick inadvertently to the side, Cas who’s sitting there in his ill-fitting trench coat, eyes wide and head tilted upwards, looking at the stars, stars shining in his eyes, and maybe … maybe Dean is willing to share his stars. Just once. 

And then, because Dean can’t keep his stupid mouth shut, he blurts out: “Can you hear it?” The firmament, the universe, the cosmos, the night, the stars, _his heartbeat._

“Yes,” Castiel replies simply, exhaling softly, and the world aligns again. Dean relaxes his arm, lets his hand blanket Cas’, the coil in his stomach uncurling, breathing again.

Cas is radiating heat through his hand and Dean wants to move closer somehow, not snuggling with Cas, just … sharing his heat.

Their shoulders touch together. Dean doesn’t voice his sigh of relief, air softly escaping through his lips without sound.

Yeah, he might be alright with sharing his stars.

**Author's Note:**

> *.*  
> lbr dean is soft on the inside
> 
> Comments and kudos are love <3


End file.
